Before the end
by shewhowearsglasses
Summary: Everyone has a story of what happened before the beginning of the end. Before it struck and everything went to hell. Glenn had love. He had curious glances, whispered secrets and blank pages.


**Title: **When it Struck  
**Summary: **Everyone has a story behind the behind. This is Glenn's. It's filled with curious eyes, searing smiles and blank pages. And before the beginning of the end, he was in love.  
**Pairing:**Glenn/OC  
**Notes1:** I love Glenn to death. And felt he needed more of a past. More of a story. All he gets are like... fillers. It's crap, seriously.  
**Notes2: **I did it in a new format: the whole one sentence per line. Four sentences per paragraph method. I thought it came out cool with how I wrote the story. Happy reading! And Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Happy Kwanzaa! And Happy New Year.

* * *

Her name was Charlotte.  
She had eyes that sparkled like the stars at night and hair as black as the wing of a raven.  
When she laughed, the sun light up the world, and when she cried, the sky rained tears of sorrow.  
She had captured his heart before he could protest otherwise.

When they had met, he had been alone.  
His feet pulled up over the bench as he stared at the coming trains.  
He listened to the sound of bells singing and tracks screeching with thoughtful ears.  
His eyes were calculating when they fell upon her.

Her lips were shaped into a grin.  
She wore a long wine-red dress that hugged her hips and a matching head-band.  
She was walking by herself, smiling at the world.  
When she caught sight of him: a lonely male with curious eyes and a world so empty, she had paused.

"Hello."  
If her words were a song then his heartbeat was the melody.  
He blinked, once, twice and smiled at her.  
It began then: with crooked smiles and blank pages.

When their friendship began, he learned her delicate details.  
She slurred and stuttered with a Boston accent, for example.  
When she was anxious, she would twirl her hair into knots and her left pinkie would twitch.  
Her eyes matched the emerald of her necklace.

On their first date, she wore black.  
It was a strapless black dress that ended just above her knees.  
Some would call it a _little black dress_.  
He thought it made her look dazzling: every little bit of her.

When he had first kissed her, the moon was out.  
His heart was beating faster than an Olympic runner ran as he paused in front of her apartment.  
She smiled at him causing butterflies to flutter around his chest rapidly.  
"I had so much fun, Glenn! Can we do this again sometime?"

His answer was immediate, "yes, of course."  
He licked his lips quickly and shifted balance from foot to foot, looking anywhere but her beautiful green eyes.  
When he finally worked up the courage, she had already leaned forward.  
His eyes widened an inch before he crossed the distance and touched his lips to hers.

It felt like fireworks and rainbows and chocolate strawberries.  
Her lips felt soft and smooth against his dry pair.  
She had smiled into the kiss and his world had lit with giggles and laughter.  
He had only seen in black and white and now his world was filled with brilliant color.

They fell in love that summer.  
Messy, wet, colorful, romantic, hopeless love.  
Her words were sloppy and giddy when she whispered it to him beneath the stars on a moonlit beach.  
His kisses were gentle and surprised when he returned the affection with as much vigor.

When fall bloomed, his eyes were glowing with happiness.  
When morning came, he would bask in the afterglow of night, his arms around her petite waist and his face in her hair.  
The scent of vanilla and peppermint burned permanently in his nose.  
She would kiss his fingers one by one and sing about love and laughter.

They were married on a shimmering night in December.  
His eyes never left her glowing form as it danced down the aisle.  
The wedding was a small one: only the minister and each other to witness the ceremony.  
But, he was at his happiest in that moment: when the words, "I now pronounce you: man, and wife," fell from the priests lips.

Their kisses were softer than ever.  
He savored the feeling of her raw lips on his and tugged their hands together as they walked out of the building.  
That night they danced and sang at the tops of their lungs.  
They jumped on the bed of the Honeymoon suite with laughter capturing their mouths.

The next day marked the beginning of the end.  
Screams of terror filled the air and blood dampened the streets.  
Her eyes swam with unshed tears when her glowing orbs found the horror-filled scene.  
"Oh, Glenn." She whimpered with fear in every syllable.

His arms circled her as they sat on the bed, staring at the doorway.  
They prayed for safety when the banging ensued.  
Knocking and screaming and cold, numbing fear shook the building.  
When he left to search for food, she cried herself to sleep.

The hallways were empty and cold as he dodged limp bodies and faceless victims.  
Her eyes bore into his mind every-time fear struck.  
She pushed him onward everytime his confidence failed.  
Finally, his eyes landed upon their white-washed door, the number reading: 42.

When he noticed the white walls visible behind the door, his breath hitched and his throat gasped.  
His footsteps were hurried and frightened as he threw the door open and raced inside.  
"Charlotte!" His screams rang unanswered while he thundered around the suite.  
She was gone.

The sky faded to black while he screamed his throat hoarse.  
That was the last time he cried, he remembered.  
Her flowing red dress, her fiery emerald eyes, her everlasting smile.  
All that remained were memories.

The least she could have done was to stay in one place.  
Had she been bitten, eaten, killed.  
She would have awoken and taken him with her.  
They could be... should be together forever.

But, now all he had were could-haves and would-haves.  
And a blank stare that imagined her anxious voice as he curved around the corner.  
He stayed in that shabby Honeymoon suite for two months.  
He scrounged what he could from the kitchens and slept with one eye open.

He did not want to leave.  
Not when there was still a chance she would come back.  
There was no evidence of fight or flight or a body or blood.  
And when you're an optimist, as he always had been, you believe anything.

He imagined that she could have flown away.  
She never had deserved a man like him when she could return to the skies and fly.  
After all, his belief of her angel status never failed.  
One day, he had always known, she would sprout wings and soar.

When he finally left, it was not of his own accord.  
A screaming filled the hallways when he awoke on a cold, Sunday morning.  
Or was it Thursday?  
He couldn't remember the last time he had known the day.

He shook himself awake and stood to peer out the peep-hole.  
A pair of matching blond women stood at the end of the hall, staring at the 'walkers' around them with vicious defiance.  
Their eyes reflected the look he remembered seeing in Charlotte's eyes.  
That was probably what made him move.

He grabbed the gun he'd stolen from a neighbor's suite and yanked open the door.  
The safety was off and bullets were flying before he could think otherwise.  
It was what Charlotte would have done.  
She would be proud, seeing him now.

The women sighed in relief and pivoted behind him.  
The 'walkers' fell one by one and finally, Glenn dropped the weapon to his side.  
They muttered quick thank-yous before tugging at his wrist and pulling him down five flights.  
His stammering excuse was not heard over the sound of footsteps on stairways.

His eyes burned with sunlight when the taller of the females threw a door open.  
"By the way," the one holding his hand called with a smile, "I'm Amy."  
The tougher, taller, older blond with a firm grip on life shook his hand next, "Andrea."  
He paused, stuttered, smiled, "Glenn."

Amy smiled softly and looked back towards the streets.  
"The group's that way, Glenn," she told him.  
"Group...?"  
A roll of the eyes and another grin was all he could memorize before she tugged at his hand again.

There was an older man with a fishing cap and a doubtful gaze; Dale.  
A tall woman with crazed eyes and a shy smile; Lori.  
A brawny male with a firm handshake and a confident grin; Shane.  
And finally, a black man with grinning eyes and a friendly chuckle; T-Dog.

They were a rag-tag shady bunch.  
With nervous children and dark pasts, skeletons hid in every closet.  
He would have to deal with the crazy, and the creepy, and the down-right boring.  
Because, whether he liked it or not:

They were his family now.


End file.
